"I--I don't know--" said young Dunstable, helplessly, still shaking. "I--I think--she'd laugh." And he went off again, hysterically, trying in vain to stop the fit. Madame bit her lip. Then came a torrent of Italian--evidently a torrent of abuse; and then she lifted a gloved hand and struck the young man violently on the cheek. "Take that!--you insolent--you--you barbarian! You are my _fiancé_,--my promised husband--and you mock at me; you will encourage your stuck-up mother to mock at me--I know you will! But I tell you--" The speaker, however, had stopped abruptly, and instead of saying anything more she fell back panting, her eyes on the young man. For Herbert Dunstable had risen. At the blow, an amazing change had passed over his weak countenance and weedy frame. He put his hand to his forehead a moment, as though trying to collect his thoughts, and then he turned--quietly--to look for his hat and stick. "Where are you going, Herbert?" stammered Madame. "I--I was carried away--I forgot myself!" "I think not," said the young man, who was extremely pale. "This is not the first time. I bid you good morning, Madame--and good-bye!" He stood looking at the now frightened woman, with a strange, surprised look, like one just emerging from a semi-conscious state; and in that moment, as Doris seemed to perceive, the traditions of his birth and breeding had returned upon him; something instinctive and inherited had reappeared; and the gentlemanly, easy-going father, who yet, as Doris remembered, when matters were serious "always got his way," was there--strangely there--in the degenerate son. "Where are you going?" repeated Madame, eyeing him. "You promised to give me lunch." "I regret--I have an engagement. Mr. Bentley--when the sitting is over--will you kindly see--Miss Flink--into a taxi? I thank you very much for allowing me to come and watch your work. I trust the picture will be a success. Good-bye!" He held out his hand to Bentley, and bowed to Doris. Madame made a rush at him. But Bentley held her back. He seized her arms, indeed, quietly but irresistibly, while the young man made his retreat. Then, with a shriek, Madame fell back on her chair, pretending to faint, and Bentley, in no hurry, went to her assistance, while Doris slipped out after young Dunstable. She overtook him on the door-step. "Mr. Dunstable, may I speak to you?" He turned in astonishment, showing a grim pallor which touched her pity. "I know your mother and father," said Doris hurriedly; "at least my husband and I were staying at Crosby Ledges some weeks ago, and my husband is now in Scotland with your people. His name is Arthur Meadows. I am Mrs. Meadows. I--I don't know whether I could help you. You seem"--her smile flashed out--"to be in a horrid mess!"